White Collar: Under the Radar (tag)
by Ruahnna
Summary: Dinner at the Burke's is over, but the night is not. What will Neal and Sara decide to do once they leave? And what plans does Elizabeth have for Peter after they are gone?


White Collar: After "Under the Radar"

Peter and El stood in the doorway, watching as Neal handed Sara into the taxi and followed her in. El leaned against him and her arms crept around his middle. He turned and looked at her, and she smiled at his anxious expression.

"I thought that went well. You?"

"I thought it went _very_ well," Elizabeth said, stretching to kiss him on the mouth. He answered her kiss, but distractedly, one eye on the taxi as it pulled out. "I'm glad you asked them to come."

"You think they'll be okay?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "I think they'll be just fine. _You_, on the other hand…."

"Me?" Peter startled, then looked at her. "What did _I_ do?"

Elizabeth grabbed his lapel and pulled him after her up the stairs. "Nothing…yet," she said lightly. "But we'll _work_ on that…."

Thoughts of Neal and Sara and the taxi blinked out like a light. Peter was suddenly in the moment, following his wife up the stairs. "I like the sound of _that_…"

* * *

One could not become a confidence man of any renown without nerves of steel, but even _steel_ could be bent with enough force. Confinement in federal prison had been as much a psychological ordeal as a physical one, but Neal had managed. Now that the _constant_ fear of return to prison was gone, freedom was a more _relative_ term. But now, with the taxi nearing his apartment at June's, the two-mile radius he lived in seemed small and constricted—primarily because Sara's apartment was _outside_ it. He would have felt much more confident securing an invitation to _her_ apartment than enticing her into his own, but he was running out of time.

Sara had made a point of saying she had an early morning meeting, not just once but several time throughout the evening at Peter and Elizabeth's house. It had taken all of Elizabeth's "hostess-y" skills to wear them both down, but eventually the good wine, the excellent food and the warmth of the Burke's welcome had loosened them both up enough to genuinely enjoy the evening. If he had been a little too funny, if Sara had laughed a little too much, it had been more than just the wine—although the wine had certainly contributed.

Sara's early appointment meant that the evening which now glowed before them was likely to be snuffed out prematurely. At first, he'd suspected that the appointment had been a ruse, a not-so-opaque attempt to beg out of the entire evening, but as the evening wore on, and the conversation (and wine) had flowed more freely, it because obvious that the meeting was real, and important. Whatever happened (or didn't), Sara was going to be in her office early. Neal had been disappointed, because it had meant an earlier end to the evening, but it also cheered him a little that she had mentioned it twice now in the taxi. _Mentioning_ it meant that she was _aware_ of it, and _awareness_ of it meant that she, too, could be chafed by boundaries. It also meant that she was considering _something_ that might cause her to miss a good night's sleep, and Neal was fairly certain he could guess what that was. But if the taxi pulled up in front of June's house and he got out alone…

Sara was chattering, and while Neal was listening with one ear, he was more than aware that she was simply filling up the tense space between them with sound. She'd repeated herself and he did not think it had to do with the wine. Watching her, watching those coral lips move and those slim white hands gesticulate, Neal reached a tipping point—and a decision. He reached across the cab's interior, snaked an arm around her waist and dragged Sara gently into his arm for a soul-stirring kiss Caught off guard, Sara stiffened in his arms for an instant, then her mouth warmed under his and one of those slender hands rose to grasp the irascible curls behind his ears.

That worked well. It worked _so_ well, in fact, that neither of them noticed when the cab stopped, and only when they broke apart, breathless and flushed, did they notice that while the earth might be tilting (a little) on its axis, the taxicab had stopped. Sara pressed her lips together self-consciously, but Neal looked up to meet the driver's eyes in the mirror. _Just a minute_, they pleaded mutely. _I'm working on something here!_ The driver sighed and rolled his eyes but said nothing, waiting—with the meter running.

"Sara—"

"Neal, I—"

They broke off, blushing, awkward, then both spoke at once again.

"I _have_ to—"

"_Please_ don't—"

Schoolchildren know that "please" really _is_ a magic word. Sara stopped at the sound of it and looked at Neal, wanting to know what else went with that entrancing word.

"Please, Sara," Neal entreated. "Come in for a…for a little bit." He saw her waver, saw her shoulders set a little, and moved to close the deal. He plucked at the knee of his suit pants , exposing the tracking anklet, and plied his best puppy-dog eyes. "Please—I can't go with _you_."

God bless a woman who can make up her mind. Sara's eyes flew wide, then narrowed, focused on his face (or maybe just his mouth).

"Let's go, then," she said briskly, then smiled in triumph when Neal scrambled out of the cab to comply.

The trip up the stairs seemed to take longer than usual. That was probably because they kept having to pry their lips off each other. It might also have had something to do with the trail of clothes that they seemed to be leaving in their wake—or trying to. Neal managed to scoop up the bits of expensive silk and wool that dropped, make forward progress up the steps and keep up his end of the tongue war going on—he'd always been good at multi-tasking—but they made the doorway without much time to spare. Neal fumbled the lock, looking not-very-much like a master lock-picker, and turned the knob just as Sara backed him up against the door and kissed him with more force than finesse.

His shirt was already half-off, and tomorrow he would have to look for a button (or two) on the staircase, but he had already conceded the loss of the shirt. He had set his _own_ sights on the three buttons on the top of her dress in the back. The zipper was already undone, but there was no hope of removing the dress while those buttons remained fastened. No one watching would have guessed Neal was capable of picking a pocket without detection, given the way his fingers fumbled now.

Sara wasn't fumbling , but then she only had _one _button to worry about, and Neal had _three_, so it wasn't exactly a fair contest. Fair or not, Neal wasn't calling foul, because he was just as anxious to _shed_ his trousers as she seemed to be to wrangle him _out_ of them. His fingers worked their magic on the buttons at last, and the silk dress fell with an expensive rustle from her shoulders. No slouch at multi-tasking herself, Sara shimmied out of the dress _and_ the slip with one hand locked behind Neal's neck, holding him fast while her mouth worked with his.

There was a sound—a groan or a whimper—that probably came from Neal, but it was drowned out by the moan that most _certainly_ came from him. Sara had taken his hand in her free one, guided it to where it was likely to do the most good at the moment, and was pulling Neal, half-dressed and fully aroused toward the quilted softness of the bed.

It was not a particularly graceful landing, but it made up in effectiveness what it lacked in elegance. There was a brief tussle, some murmurs of instruction or direction, and a small complaint, soon muffled by the sounds of big, wet sloppy kisses and the sibilant sound of skin on skin. Someone fumbled the nightstand drawer, there was the sound of paper tearing—first things first—and then there were plenty of things to do second, third, fourth…and so on.

* * *

"Wow," said Peter quietly, in dimness of their bedroom. Elizabeth's sleek head rested on his chest, and her hand was drawing little circles on his skin. She giggled and rubbed her cheek against the tufty curls, inhaling the clean, musky scent of his skin.

"Thank you," she teased. "I'm going to be headlining all week…."

Their laughter shook the bed. Peter turned his head to look down at her just as she looked up to meet his eyes. It was a good prelude to a kiss, and then another. "Good to know," Peter said. "I'll make sure to have the cover charge…."

El snorted, snuggling in. "The cover charge changes without notice," she said airily. "You might have to get…_creative_."

"I do like a challenge," Peter mused. He caught her hand and held it to his lips, then turned it over and kissed the palm gently. "And I do love you." He shifted so they were facing each other, El's head resting on his bicep. His other arm curved around her possessively.

"I love you, too, Honey," Elizabeth said. "I love everything about you."

"Surely not _everything_," Peter chuckled, then sighed. "I know I drive you crazy, obsessing about work. Obsessing about Neal and what he's up to…."

"I _do_ love everything," she said gently. "Even the obsessing part. But I'm pretty sure I can guess what Neal's up to about now."

Peter grew quiet, then dared a look at her face. Her certainty made his eyebrows rise. "You think?" he said. "I thought they seemed a little, I don't know, _uncomfortable_ here tonight."

"Bet they're not uncomfortable _now_," Elizabeth said.

"Oh," said Peter. "So you think that was just—"

"Jitters." She smiled and nodded. "Trust me on this," she said. "I'm pretty sure if you checked, you'd find that Neal was outside his two-mile radius tonight."

Peter looked at her, still not sure. There was a moment, then Elizabeth quashed it with a look.

"If you get out of bed to check," she said, "I'm seriously going to _hurt_ you."

* * *

"—let myself out," Sara whispered. Neal rolled over and squinted at the bedside clock.

"Wah?" he mumbled.

Sara kissed his open mouth, and he managed to kiss her back, half-awake or not. One of his hand rose to tangle in her hair, but she caught it and held it between her two soft hands.

"No. I can't. I _have_ to go," she murmured. She released him and stepped back, bending to slip on her pumps. "It was lovely, Neal. Really lovely."

He had moved from half-awake to three-quarters awake. "I—hang on, I'll get my robe and at least walk you down—"

Shaking her head, Sara stepped close to the bed and pressed his shoulders back onto the pillow.

"No," she said firmly. "The taxi's here. I'm going already. You sleep."

"Sleep," Neal said. He looked at her and the moonlight coming from the balcony caught in the fathomless blue of his eyes. "Who needs sleep?"

Sara walked to the door, then turned and smiled at him. She had the smile of a hunter—the happy, _satisfied_ smile of a happy, _satisfied_ hunter. "_You're_ probably going to," she insisted. "Especially if we do this again."

"Again?" Neal was now _completely_ awake. "I—when? When can you come over again?"

Her hand was on the doorknob, but she stopped and looked thoughtful. "I work late tomorrow," she said. "What time do _you_ get off?"

"Depends," Neal said, and smiled.

"On when Peter lets you go home?" she asked.

"No," Neal said cheekily. "It depends on when you come over—hey!"

He laughed and dodged the wadded up potholder she'd hurled at him, then smiled at her, tousle-headed and pleased with himself. Sara felt her breath catch in her throat, but she covered as well as she could.

"Better watch out, Caffrey," she murmured. "I know where you _live_ now."

The door shut quietly behind her.

* * *

Coffee won't cure all that ails you, but it does manage to smooth the rough edges.

"Morning, Peter," Neal said, smiling and looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"Morning, Neal," Peter returned. There was little of the cat-that-ate-the-canary look about _him_ as well. "You and Sara get home okay?"

Neal was suddenly busy with his coffee cup, making a show of pouring. Peter's eyes narrowed. Neal didn't _like_ the office coffee.

"Neal-?"

"It was nice of you to invite us over for dinner last night," Neal said, interrupting whatever Peter had been about to say. "It would have been a long evening at home."

Peter looked at Neal, his expression shrewd. "A long evening at home? _Was_ it a long evening at home last night?"

"Peter! I was at _your_ house until almost eleven, and here I am—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to work!"

"Neal—if I checked your anklet for last night—"

"Go ahead," Neal said. There was a glint of challenge in his eye. "You'll find that I spent the entire evening after I left your house at my apartment."

"You stayed in one place last night?"

If Peter hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Neal blushed. "More or less," Neal muttered. He took a gulp of coffee—a big one—and pushed past Peter.

"Come on, boss," he said lightly. "We're on the clock. Tick tock. What are we going to do today?"

Peter smiled and shook his head. "You never can tell," he murmured.

"What?" Neal turned, all traces of blushing gone. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Peter murmured. "Time to go to work."


End file.
